


Charlotte Temple 



A HISTORICAL DRAMA 



THREE ACTS, WITH PROLOGUE 



DRAMATIZED. BY 

HARRIET PIXLEY PLUMB 



Charlotte Temple 



A HISTORICAL DRAMA 



THREE ACTS, WITH PROLOGUE 



DRAMATIZED BY 

HARRIET PIXLEY PLUMB 



Publishers Printing Co. 
359-361 Dearborn St. 

CHICAGO. 

T. Fisher Unwin, 

11 Paternoster Buildings, 

London, E. C. 

ENGLAND. 



.28461 



Entered according to the act of Congress in the year 1899. 

by 

Harriet Pixlky Plumb, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress 

at Washington, I). C. 

Ml Kitrhf- Reserved. 



COPIES Kfcc- 1 VfcD. 






TMP96-C06883 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE : 

Capt. Robert Montraville - - - - of the British Army. 

Lieut. Belcour, -- -- -- -of the British Army. 

Major Buckingham, ------ of the British Army. 

Col. Clayton, --------of the British Army. 

Barker, ------- Butler to Col. Clayton. 

Mr. Temple ----- A younger son of a nobleman. 

Charlotte Temple, - - - - -Daughter of Mr. Temple. 

Mile. La Rue, - French governess at Mme. Du Pont's school. 
Miss Gushington, ------ A teacher at the school. 

Miss Franklyn, -------- An heiress. 

Miss Mayfair, ----- Guest at Col. Clayton's. 

Soldiers, citizens, etc. 

Time: 1774— 1775. 
Loci : — Prologue, Chichester, England. 

Acts i, 2 and 3, New York and vicinity. 



REMARKS. 

As the action of this drama occurs in the vear 1774, the 
costumes and stage-settings should correspond. The ladies, 
when in evening dress, wearing low-necked, short-waisted, 
clinging gowns. Hair powdered. Charlotte Temple, being 
a young girl, should be gowned in white, clinging goods, low- 
necked, short-waisted, wearing a ribbon tied in front. Sleeves 
short and puffed. Hair worn in long curls. White stock- 
ings and black slippers. The soldiers in full regimentals, with 
powdered hair. 

The drawing-room should be furnished with Chippendale 
furniture, and rugs, also a spinet. 

PROLOGUE. 

Grounds of young ladies' seminary — The encounter and 
interview — A wily woman — Almost saved — The elopement. 

ACT I. 

Home of Charlotte Temple near New York — "Why don't 
he come?" — The trail of the serpent — The letter — A false 
friend and designing villain — The return — Treachery — "Kill 
me, but don't doubt my fidelity" — The desertion — The 
traitor scorned — Driven from the cottage — Out in the storm. 

ACT II. 

Mrs. Clayton's drawing-room — Palmistry — The minuet — 
The letter — "I implore you to give me shelter from the storm*' 
— The repulse — The recognition — The appeal, "Save me, or 
I perish." 

ACT III. 

Miss Gushington's apartments — Dreaming of home and 
mother — A father's blessing — The duel — The betrayer's re- 
morse — Death of Charlotte. 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 5 

PROLOGUE. 

(Exterior of Mine. Du Pont's school at Chichester, Eng- 
land. Broken stone wall at rear over which vines clamber. 
Trees at back of wall and scene painted on drop represent- 
ing seminary some little distance back. Scene on stage rep- 
resents an English road. Stone seat R. C. Stump of tree 
L. C. Large iron gate L. C. in wall, showing walk lead- 
ing to seminary. Captain Montraville, Belcour, and Major 
Buckingham discovered lounging about, dressed in full regi- 
mentals. Laughter as curtain rises.) 

Belcour — Why is it that a man, usually brave, is generally 
afraid of a woman ? 

Mont.— Is he? 

Bel.— Well, there's Major Buckingham. He seems more 
frightened at the rustle of petticoats than at the roar of cannon. 

Maj. B. — Youngster, a cannon is a death-dealing instru- 
ment of war, while a woman is — 

Bel. (laughing) — A dangerous instrument, even in peace. 

Mont, (dreamily) — Most men love danger; it gives zest 
to life. 

Bel. — Without women what would life be worth? 

Mont. — A puff of smoke, a bullet — then oblivion. 

Maj. B. — Stuff, nonsense! Life would be far happier 
without them, unless they were like the cannon I mentioned, 
and put an end to misery instead of being the beginning of it. 

Mont, (laughing) — Ah, Major, you know you like to look 
at pretty women. 

Maj. B. — Through my spy-glass — yes. 

Mont. — And to talk with them. 

Maj. B. — No, sir; no! W r hat can a woman talk about? 
What do women know of the "Wars of the Roses," of Richard 
the Lion-hearted, of musket-drill, or court-martial ? 

Bel. — And what does the Major know of duchess lace, real 
Sevres ware, Dutch linen, or old Delft? 

Maj. B. — Paf — not worth knowing about. 

Mont, (who has risen) — Come, come, Major ; you know 
you are artistic. Now, for comparison, what is more beau- 
tiful than yonder picture? (Stands on stone seat and points 
beyond the wall.) Shepherdesses, sylphs, call them what you 
will — goddesses of Elysia — beautiful ! 

Maj. B. (looking with interest) — To my way of thinking 
they are more like vast expense accounts to their luckless 
fathers. If they had all been boys — 

Bel. — They could all join the King's Guards ! 

Maj. B. — That would be worth while. 

Mont. — But you will admit, Major, that this is a goodly 
sight? 



6 CHARU >TTE TEMPLE 

Maj. B. (seriously) — Come, come, Captain Montraville, 
this is a dangerous pastime. Truly you have not lost your 
heart to one of these playthings? 

Mont.- Perhaps 1 have. Who knows" 

Maj. B. — Montraville, a good soldier never makes love 
on the eve of battle. Better let your thoughts dwell on the 
future. 

Mont. — I am doing so. What man's future does not in- 
clude the future of some fair woman? (Major coughs.) Ex- 
cepting you. Major, of course. 

Maj. B. — It is well that you added that last sentence; but 
remember, my boy, these young ladies are not old enough to 
judge wisely ; they are school-misses merely — children — one 
might saw If you wish to comport yourselves with honor, you 
will turn your faces toward Portsmouth and order. "March!" 
Well, I will leave you — it does no good to moralize. I must 
make my five miles every day, or I'll get too clemmed fat to 
run after those Yankees when they retreat. (Montraville is 
looking over wall.) Captain Montraville, about! — face! 

Mont, (laughing) — 1 cannot; I'm a prisoner in the hands 
of the enemy. 

Maj. 1!. (with contempt) — God save the army from petti- 
coat rule. (Exit L. 2 E. Montraville gets down.) 

Bel. — Montraville, so you are really in earnest about mak- 
ing that girl your wife? 

Mont. — Why should I not? Is she not the sweetest girl 
in the world? I'm in earnest for I really love her, Belcoui. 
Everv glance of her eyes only welds the chain stronger and 
makes her a part of my existence. 

Bel. — The dominant part, my dear Montraville, making 
her woes your woes, her joys your beatification. 

Mont. — She is my very heart! Oh, Belcour, the thought 
of leaving her here while I must journey to America is most 
distracting. 

Bel. — Take her with you. If she loves you she will go. 
Here is an opportunity to put her love to the test. 

Mont. — She loves me. Xo truer heart ever beat in the 
breast of woman. 

Bel. — You're a strange fellow — I should say, a madman. 
Now if vim would love like a rational being such as I — 

Mont, (laughing) — You! Why, Belcour, you never loved 
in your life. 

Bel. — Egad, your tone is not flattering, Montraville. Ah. 
here she comes, (hooks off into grounds.) 
Mont— At last ! 

Bel.— Isn't she a fascinating creature! So guileless and 
sweet ! 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 7 

Mont, (sighing) — Darkness lifts the sable mantle from my 
heart, and the sunshine of rapture falls upon it. My love 
comes. 

Bel. — By my faith, I believe you have an appointment with 
her. I will leave you to her tender care. Hush, the fair 
Ophelia comes. So young, so fair, so innocent! I will 
vanish. Adieu. (Mont, pretends to draw his sword, or 
makes a sword of his cane in play, and Belcour, laughing, 
exit hastilv B. 2. E.) 

Mont.— What shall I say to her now that she is here. 
The heart should have a tongue to speak its love. What 
poor- interpreters are the lips to translate the mystic language 
of the heart. I cannot leave her — I will not! She must 
go with me ! Let them disinherit me — disown me ! Char- 
lotte shall be mv riches ; in her dear arms I shall find Para- 
dise! (Turning' around he discovers Miss Gushington ap- 
proaching instead of Charlotte. Surprised and disgusted he 
remarks) — I expected an angel, and a spectre appears. 

Enter Miss Gushington reading from a book. 

Gush. — "My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words, 
Of thy tongue's utterings, yet I know the sound. 
Art thou not a Romeo and a Montague?" 

Mont, (aside) — A love-lorn maid reading "Romeo!" 
There is a significance in those words, for am I not a "Ro- 
meo?" (Appearing before her and replying in the words of 
Romeo.) "Neither, fair creature, if either thee dislike." 

(Miss Gushington startled, but replies) — "How cam'st thou 
hither — and wherefore?" 

Mont. — "With love's light wing did I o'er perch these 
walls." But pardon me, I have disturbed your revery. 

Miss G — Not at all, Captain Montraville. I am delighted 
to have met you. 

Mont. — You compliment me. I am your humble servant. 

Miss G. — You dear soldiers, have you not a right to com- 
pliments, for who so daring in love and war as you? 

Mont. — Especially Major Buckingham. 

Miss G. — Oh, Captain Montraville! 

Mont. — You need not hide vour blushes, Miss Gushing- 
ton. I know whereof I speak. ' The Major will feel deeply 
the loss of your charming society. 

Miss G. — Do you think so? 

Mont. — I know so. 

Miss G. — Oh, you dear man ! But is not your departure 
quite sudden ? The Major did not remark it at the military 
ball the last time I saw him. 

Mont.— He could not bear to speak of it, but he is dying 
for a glimpse of you. He has been here all the evening, hop- 



8 CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 

ing you would come this way. ( )nly a few moments ago he 
left me to try to walk off his impatience. 

Miss G. — Oh, the dear man. which way did he go? 

Mont. — ^Straight up the road. 

lvuss G. (desperately) — He must not depart without bid- 
ding me goodby. (Starts L.) Captain Montraville, do you 
know that I have a brother in America? 

Mont.— Indeed? 

Miss ('.. (sighing) — And I haven't seen him for ten years. 
How glad he would be to have me visit him! Rut I must 
hasten. Adieu, Captain. 1 must see the Major. (Exit L.) 

Mont, (laughing) — If she can catch up with Major Buckie 
when lie's walking to reduce avoirdupois, she's a better pe- 
destrian than I am. (Walks restlessly up and down.) Why 
doesn't Charlotte come? Ought 1 to ask her to marrv a 
penniless devil of a soldier who may fall in the first fight and 
leave her a widow in a strange land? Why disturb the happy 
present with painful speculations on the future? I have Char- 
lotte's love. Yes, that is mine. ( Enter Mile. La Rue through 
gate. Mademoiselle, you bring word from Charlotte, I know*. 
Why does she not come? I have been waiting for ages; so it 
seems to me. 

La Rue (laughing lightly) — (With accent) — How you do 
magnify time. Well, you must wait for ages still. She will 
not come. 

Mont, (staggered) — Not come! Surely she will not let me 
depart without one good-by? 

La Rue — No, she sends you dis. You will understand. 
Read. 

Mont, (taking note from her) — (Reads) — "Montraville, for- 
give me, for I cannot say good-by. It would break my heart. 
Try to forget me, and be happy in the New World. — Char- 
lotte." Oh, God ! (Sinks on stone seat.) 

La Rue — And you will let her sign her own death-warrant. 
For I tell you, Captain Montraville, if she go not wiz you 
she will die. I know her — she has ze sensitive nature zat 
will pine away and die of a broken heart. 

Mont. — And mine will break, too. I must see her. La 
Rue. I shall remain here until I do. 

La Rue — Zat is right. If you vill be firm and insist upon 
seeing her, she vill come. I know her ; she love you like a 
religion. You are ze zun zat rises in ze morning, and also 
ze moon zat rises at night. You are her universe. Body and 
soul — she is yours. 

Mont. — And body and soul I am hers! What shall I do? 
Loves drives reason from the head, "For love that gives wit 
to fools, makes fools of wits." 

I. a Rue. — You want my assistance? 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE. 9 

Mont. — Yes, Mademoiselle. You know what art attracts a 
woman most. 

La Rue — Ah, Monsieur, I vould aid you if I could, but 
1 am a poor girl. My only means of livelihood is Madame's 
school. If I do anysing to lose my position, what zen can 
I do? 

Mont. — If, through any favor to me, you lose your posi- 
tion, you shall not suffer. Here — to show you my good faith, 
accept this slight token of my esteem. (Gives her a diamond 
ring from his finger.) 

La Rue (with a cry of delight) — Oh, a diamond ! I do 
love ze diamonds. Captain Montraville. You are a prince 
of generosity. 

Mont, (lightly) — A trifle — only aid me to win Charlotte, 
and you shall be repaid well. Go, dear friend ; bring her to 
me, and I will never forget the service. 

La Rue — How can I refuse ze generous Captain anyzing. 
Go you away from here so she will not see you. Return in 
fifteen minutes and she will be on zis spot. Go now — quick. 

Mont. — How can I thank you? 

La Rue (looking at ring) — Ah, you have thanked me very 
well. Only be patient. Charlotte is yours. Go! Some 
one comes. (Exit Montraville hastilv R. as Belcour enters 
L.) 

Bel. — Mademoiselle, why do you send the handsome Cap- 
tain away so hastily? Am I de trop? 

La Rue — Foolish fellow ! You zink I care for ze Cap- 
tain? I send him away to wait for Charlotte, when I bring 
her here. 

Bel. — Gad! Love! Hasn't he seen her yet? 

La Rue — She will not come. She say she feel somezing 
is going to happen. Well, I bring her — zat is going to hap- 
pen. (Laughs.) 

Bel. — So the little simpleton is afraid to say good-by to 
her lover? 

La Rue (smiling) — Ah, you leave her to me. I vill make 
her change her mind. 

Bel. — She has faith in you ? 

La Rue — More zan zat. I have power over her. Her 
will is weak ; mine is strong. She does whatever I say — 
besides she loves and where love leads ze footsteps follow. 

Bel. — Is it love that leads you to me, Mademoiselle? (Af- 
fectionately.) 

La Rue — Pah, do not make love to me. I hate sentimen- 
tal nonsense. You know why I come, and why I go across 
ze sea wiz you. I am truthful. It is because I am ambi- 
tious and because I am seeck of being only Mile. La Rue, 
teacher of French in Madame Du Pont's select seminary for 



to CHARL< >TTE TEMPLE 

young ladies. Pah! 1 am too good for such a life. 
Bel. — You're not very flattering, surely. 
La Rue— Zat is why I am sharming. Do you not know 

zer is a certain charm in brazen truth? You love me be- 
cause I tell you frankly 1 love you not. Is it not so? 

Bel. — 1 think it is because you are so beautiful, Mademoi- 
selle. 

La Rue (laughing)— Don't ! You are not sincere. I am 
not beautiful. 

Bel. — To me you are far more beautiful than that milk and 
water baby, Charlotte Temple, for whom Montraville makes 
such a fool of himself. 

La Rue — ( )h, why trouble yourself to lie. You know she 
is pretty. Be truthful once. 

Bel. (angrily) — You are the most disagreeable woman I 
ever knew. 

La Rue — Now you are sharming. I love to see you in 
a temper. 

Bel. — I doubt if I can agree with any one of your temper. 

La Rue — ( Hi, we will agree like turtle-doves if you will 
be truthful and will not flatter. 

Bel. — You shall have the truth to your heart's content, ma 
belle. It is growing late. The time for our departure is 
near at hand. You must not go without Charlotte, for Mon- 
traville will be a devilish poor traveling-companion if she does 
not go. What is to be done? 

La Rue — You go quickly and bring a chaise with fast 
horses. When the moon comes up to yonder spire, drive up 
to zis gate. Leave ze rest to me. (The moon has been seen 
to rise through the tree-tops, and is now almost to the spire 
on the school building.) Now go. 

Bel.— And Montraville? 

La Rue — Me is not far. Go quickly. 

Bel. — Depend upon me. (Exit R.) 

La Rue (meditatively) — My star must rise if Charlotte's 
falls. In America no one will know me. Ze past vill be com- 
pletely hidden, and I shall no longer be ze poor school-teacher. 
I am still a handsome woman, even as Belcour says. And 
he, ze fool, zinks he is ze oak on vich I vill lean. No, he is 
only ze branch. (Looks often to the I'.) Why he return :> 
Xo. it is Montraville. No, a stranger. Ah, it is Charlotte 
Temple's father. Why comes he here now — now of all ze 
times. 1 must see him — I must know! 

i Enter Mr. Temple acting as if he had lost his way.) 

Mr. Temple (seeing La Rue) — Pardon me. madam. I be- 
lieve 1 have lost my way. This is the entrance to Madame 
Du Pont's school is it not? 

La Rue — Through zat gate, sir. Rut pardon! you, I be- 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE n 

lieve, are Mr. Temple, our dear Charlotte's father, is it not so? 

Mr. Temple — I am. And you — 

La Rue — I am Mademoiselle La Rue, teacher of French 
in Madame's seminary. Ah, such a lovely girl is Charlotte 
Temple. You may well be proud of her. 

Mn T. — Such praise from one of her teachers is very sweet 
to those who love her, believe me. 

La Rue — Those who love her! Who does not love her? 

Mr. T.— She is a good child. 

La Rue— I hope you do not bring ill news, sir. 

Mr. T. — Glad news for Charlotte. As to-morrow is the 
anniversary of the happy day that gave her to us, I have come 
to take her home that she may spend it with us. 
La Rue — Take her away? 

Mr. T. — Only for to-morrow. I hope Madame will not 
object. 

La Rue — Surely not. You vill go right up ze path to ze 
right, zen to ze left, and you find your way zere to ze front- 
door. (Mr. Temple lifts his hat and goes in through gate.) 
Ze path I show him, take him not to the front-door. She 
must not see her father. (Exit P.) 

(Enter Major Buckingham followed by Miss Gushing-ton 
L.) 

Miss G. — Do wait, Major. How fast you walk ! (Sighs.) 

Maj. B. (with rising inflection) — Do I? 

Miss G.— I am quite out of breath, but fortunately I have 
overtaken you. 

Maj. B. (with falling inflection) — Indeed! 

Miss G. — I couldn't think of letting you go so far away 
without saying good-by. (Sighs.) 

Maj. B.— Indeed! 

Miss G. — Indeed I could not. 

Maj. B.— Really? 

Miss G. — We shall miss you dreadfully. 

Maj. B— Indeed! 

Miss G. (aside) — Why doesn't he say something? (Senti- 
mentally.) In fact, I scarcely know what we shall do when 
our brave soldier boys are gone. 

Maj. B. (gruffly)— Really ? 

Miss G. (giggling and half crying at same time) — I think 
we shall all die of broken hearts. 

Maj. B. (with sarcasm) — Really! 

Miss G. — You seem to have lost your tongue, Major. 

Maj. B.— Indeed? 

Miss G. (coyly) — Surely you have something to say to me 
before you go? 

Maj .B.— Really— 

Miss G. — Or do you mean to forget us all and — 



12 CHARU >TTE TEMPLE 

Maj. I'-.— Truly! 

Miss G. — Ungracious man. will you forget your friends 
so soon ? 

Maj. B.— No! I — 

Miss (>. (quickly) — Oh, you dear man, you don't know- 
how happy you have made me. 

Maj. I!. (embarrassed) — Nonsense, I — 

Miss G. — Yes, you have. If you only knew how highly 
we regard you — 

Maj. B. — Ye>? 

Miss ('.. (as bell rings within) — ( )h, that cruel hell ! Is it so 
late?' It tolls the moment of our parting. I must go or Ma- 
dame will seold me for breaking her rules. But don't think 
you have lost us for good. I may take a trip to America. 
You know I have a brother — 

Maj. B.— Indeed! 

Miss (".. (sighing with impatience) — Yes, indeed! In 
America. (Sweetly) so we may meet again very, very soon, 
and this may not be good-by, but only an revoir. just au 
revoir. 

Major B. (gruffly) — Good-by ! 

Miss G. — "Parting is such sweet sorrow that I could say 
good-by until it were to-morrow." Good-by, dear soldier 
Romeo. "None but the brave deserve the fair.'' ( Flirts with 
him from the gate and exit into the grounds.) 

Maj. I'>. (jamming his hat over his eyes) — Heaven be 
praised ! ( Enter Belcour and Montraville as he exits to I'..) 

Bel. — Ah. Major, that's the time we caught you, ha, ha, ha. 

Maj B.— Go t'o the devil ! i Exit R. 1..' E.) 

Mont.- Belcour, if you were not my friend I should kill 
you for suggesting a thing like that to me. Her honor is 
my honor; she goes as my wife, or she remains here pure in 
her virginity. 

Bel. — It's because 1 am your friend that 1 would save you 
from a union, the outcome of which can only result in misery 
for you both. 

Mont. — Stop! Friensdhip is not friendship that wounds 
the heart and would rob a man of his honor and a woman 
of her fair name. 

Bel.— It is useless to talk to a man who hears only with 
his heart. She is not your peer; I would say "God's blessing" 
on the union if she were. 

Mont.— An honest woman is any man's peer. 

Bel.— To such a woman I bow. The hairs that adorn the 
heads of my married friends make me fear I shall never bend 
my head to women. 

Mont. — Do not cause theirs to bend, and yours must bend 
in horn aire. 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 13 

Bel.— Splendid sentiment, Montraville. But yonder comes 
the lovely Charlotte. Remember the future ; do nothing you 
will regret. (Exit.) 

Mont.— So long as there is honor in the act, there should 
be no regret. (Steps aside to observe Charlotte unseen.) 

(Enter Charlotte with a flower in her hand.) 

Char.— Dear little flower, tell me a secret. (Pulling pet- 
als.) "He loves me— he loves me not. He loves me— he 
loves me — " 

Mont, (coming to her side)— Charlotte ! He loves thee! 

Char, (wavering and finally yielding to his impassioned 
glance)— Montraville ! (Throws herself into his arms.) 

Mont.— And would you have permitted me to depart with- 
out one word of farewell? 

Char.— My heart said farewell to you ; I dared not trust 
my lips. (Drawing away from him.) 

' Mont.— Ah, love! My heart's yearnings for you brought 
you to me, altho' you would have me go with misery in my 
heart ; the light of happiness gone forever from my life. 

Char. — Think you the sun shines upon my life, when dark- 
ness falls upon vours? You have no faith in my love. 

^lont.— Say' not so, Charlotte. You are all the joys of 
life to me. When I leave my native land, a few weeks may 
terminate my existence ; the perils of the ocean, the dangers 
of war may separate us eternally. 

Char —No, no, my love. You will come back to me — 
Heaven is kind, not cruel. 

Mont. My God, ^..cuiotte, you do not know how madly 

I love you! I cannot go without you, Charlotte! Be mine, 

mv wife ! 

' Char.— No, Montraville, our parents could never consent 
to our union. You would be disinherited, while mine think 
of me as a child. 

Mont, (bitterly)— And I had nattered myself that 1 was 
dearer to you than all the world. I thought for my sake you 
would brave the dangers of the ocean, that by your affection 
for me the hardships of my life abroad would be softened ; that 
your sweet tenderness would cheer the hour of death, and per- 
haps smooth mv passage to another world. A few short hours 
ago I was filled with ambition, hope— now life possesses no 
charm for me. I care not what awaits me to-morrow ! 

Char.— Hush, hush, Montraville, have I not sworn to you 
that I love you better than mother, father, home, life itself? 
But my duty is religion to me. I must not hear you further. 
Though our hearts break, you must bid me farewell, and 
perhaps when vou return 

Mont, (desperately)— Return ! I shall never return ; Some- 
thing tells me that if we part now, it is forever. 



i4 CHARL< >TTE TEMPLE 

Char.- Don't deprive me of the little strength 1 have. Go, 
Montraville, go, and may God bless and protect you! (Calls.) 
Mademoiselle La Rue! Let Rue come take me away! 
(Staggers to La Rue, who now enters, and falls almost faint- 
ing into her arms.) 

La Rue. — Charlotte, you arc foolish. You will die if you 
part like zis from ze man you love. Zer vill be no wrong in 
going wiz Captain Montraville, but I vill make one grand sac- 
rifice for you. 1 \\ ILL GO VIZ YOU. 

.Mont. — And 1 swear to you, Charlotte, we will be married 
the moment we land. You can write a letter to your parents, 
and when the war is over we will return for their blessing. 

Char, (arousing herself) — 1 must do my duty. My parents 
would not forgive me if 1 left them thus. It cannot be. 
i Weakens again.) 

La Rue. — Captain Montraville, a meestaken sense of duty- 
has ruined many a life's happiness. Do you sink it is right 
for you to part when it makes her like zis? 

Mont. — She is right; she has brought me to my senses. 
She is a brave girl, and I am a coward. (Charlotte lifts her 
head.) Charlotte, farewell ! You are right. There can be no 
happiness in such a departure. (Embraces her, then turns 
to depart.) 

Char. (Aside.) — ( >h, God. how can 1 let him go! 

( Enter Belcour with chaise which pauses R. C.) 

Mont.- — 1 am a soldier, Charlotte, and surely must not be 
less courageous in my duty than you, brave girl. 

Char. — I cannot bear it! ( )h, why did we ever meet, and 
why does my heart break? 

Belcour (joining La Rue) — Come, let us leave them. I 
have poured poison into his mind which will do its deadly 
work. 

La Rue (to Belcour) — I have made her as submissive as a 
kitten. She will go to America. 

Bel — Montravlle. time dies! (Belcour and La Rue go 
toward chairs.) 

Mont. — Farewell ! (Embrace.) Death has no sting like 
this. 

( Starts toward chaise.) 

Char. (With a heart-broken cry). — Montraville, do not 
leave me! I will go with you to death if you wish it. 

Mont. — My Charlotte! Our hearts shall not break. 

Char.— It is heaven's wish, my love! 

\ oice without. — Charlotte. Charlotte! 

Mr. Temple (without). — Charlotte, my child' 

Char.— My father! 

Bel. — Quick, into the chaise 1 

Mont.— Come, Charlotte, come! 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 15 

Char. — No, no, Montraville, my father calls me. (Starts R.) 

Mont, (with great feeling) — Your husband calls you, too. 

Char, (wavering) — Oh, Heaven, which way? Which way? 
(Staggers and falls into a swoon.) 

Bel. (lifting her and placing her in Montraville's arms.) — 
Montraville, fate favors you. She is yours. 

Mont, (hesitates, then takes her in his arms and kisses 
her) — My love, my life ! 

CURTAIN. 

2nd picture. — La Rue and Belcour in chaise ; Montraville 
with Charlotte in his arms, and one foot on lower step as if 
about to get in. 

SECOND CURTAIN. 

Chaise gone — Mr. Temple seen alone on stage. 

ACT I. 

Scene. — Charlotte's home in New York. Furnished in the 
colonial style and showing a fair summer landscape without. 
Seven months are supposed to have elapsed. On table L. C. is 
a work-basket containing Charlotte's sewing. A large mirror 
L. C. Books on shelf or in book-case R. La Rue discovered 
at mirror putting a white rose in her hair. Belcour enters 
and pauses in doorway as curtain rises. 

Bel. — How lovely ! But beauty needs no adoring. 

La Rue (turning). — You here, Lieutenant Belcour! I 
thought I told you not to come again, did I not? 

Bel (nochalantly) — So you did. Mademoiselle, but men 
always do what they are forbidden. My audacity is only a» 
tribute to your charms. 

La Rue. — You are falling again into your old habits. A 
bad sign. Why do you not stay away ven I vish you not to 
come. 

Bel. — How can I remain away? You know I love you. 
Life without you is eternal darkness, and I am a plant that 
craves the sunshine of your eyes. Have pity upon me and 
take me to your heart again — that flexible heart which has 
housed so many tenants ! 

LaRue. — Monsieur, you insult me ! 

Bel. — You do not understand me. 

La Rue. — Only too well. Unless you stay away I shall ap- 
peal to Captain Montraville. 

Bel. — Is he now your admirer. Do tell me. I fancy 
neither yor nor Charlotte will see much more of him. The 
Captain has awakened from his dream of love. His love was 
too vehement to last long. 

La Rue. — But he will not desert Charlotte. 

Bel. — Oh, no, he will probably send her home. 



[6 CHARL< >TTE TEMPLE 

La Rue. — Send her home ! And vat vill he do? 

Bel. — Well, if straws point the right way, he will marry 
Miss Franklyn. 

La Rue. — Then he does not intend to marry Charlotte? 

Bel. — With beauty and fortune at his feet, he would be a 
fool indeed. 

La l\iu-.-- And he prefers to be a scoundrel. 

Bel. — How hard you are on Montraville ! When we poor 
men are inconstant you call us scoundrels, while we only call 
you coquettes. 

La Rue. -We only cause you pain, you bring dishonor. 

Bel. — A woman's cry to extenuate Iter iollies. You cannot 
reproach me ; 1 have been true to you. 

La Rue. — You have forgotten ze promise you made ven 
we left England. 

Mel. — No. but you have forgotten yours. 

La Rue. — It is a woman's privilege to better her condition. 

Bel. — It must be, for she never fails to accept an oppor- 
tunity. Alas, poor me— a discarded glove — a love worn out! 

La Rue. — Your presence annoys me. I vill zank you to 
you come here no more. 

Bel. — Sorry I cannot oblige you. 

La Rue (angrily) — I vill also zank you to go now — at once. 

Bel. — Sorry to be disobliging. My visit to-day is to the 
lovely Charlotte; I am her guest — not yours. By the way. 
have you noticed how deucedly good-looking Miss Temple is 
growing. She does not seem very happy, but egad! — sorrow 
becomes her. 

I .a Rue. — Good looking! brown cheeks. Hollow eyes 
half the time running over wiz tears. Is zat ze bait to capture 
a man ? 

Bel. — I believe it is. Try it on the Colonel. 

La Rue. — Mind your business. Zat is my affair, and I do 
as I like. If you came to see Charlotte, you will find her in ze 
garden. 

Bel. (going up) — Thank you. Pardon me, that white rose 
does not become you. You should wear yellow. 

La Rue. — Yat do you mean, sair? 

Bel. — White roses mean purity, you know. Yellow 

La Rue. — Oh, you wretch ! 

(Exit Belcour laughing, 1). C.) 

La Rue. — Zere is no gallantry in zese Englishmen. In 
France, ah, in France ve have gentlemen. So Montraville is 
tired of Charlotte. I know what zat means. And I shall not 
be dragged down wiz her. I must be very careful to-day. 
Zis is ze last chance I shall have to make my grand coup d' 
etat. I must bring all my batteries to bear on ze gallant Colo- 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 17 

nel. He is rich and can give me the social position I have 
long dreamed of. 

(Enter Col. Clayton with a large bouquet of yellow roses, 
which he presents to her.) 

Col. C. — Mademoiselle, permit me 

La Rue (joyfully) — Yellow roses ! How beautiful ! (Aside.) 
I could almost believe Belcour sent zem. (Aloud.) I zank 
you ! 

Col. C. — I tried to get white or red ones, but they were 
all gone. There are becoming. I like yellow roses for dark 
people. — I mean brunettes. But what is wrong? You're not 
yourself? 

La Rue (pretending to cry) — Oh, do not question me. 
Col. C. — But something is amiss. I hope I have a right to 
ask. 

La Rue (drying her eyes) — Do you zink I nevair have sad 
thoughts. Col. Clayton? 

Col. C. — You with sad thoughts ! They never should find 
an abiding place in your bosom ; and you seemed so light- 
hearted. Come, my child, confide in me. Believe me, I am 
your best friend. 

La Rue. — How good you are ! Could I have such a fazer 
as you to guide me, 1 nevair would have been persuaded to 
embark for zis strange land wiz ze care of Charlottle Temple, 
who, I soon learned, used me as a cloak for her shame 
Col. C. — It is possible that you were deceived? 
La Rue. — Heartlessly deceived. I believed Charlotte and 
Montraville were man and wife, and my position in zis house 
is ruining my reputation. I believe I shall soon be left by 
zese people to ze mercies of ze world. I am lost unless I can 
leave zis place at once ; but where — where can I go ? 

Col C. — Why, dem it, girl, this is shameful! How dare 
those people make a dupe of a good girl? I'll have that eu<\ 
Montraville, reduced to the ranks ! 

La Rue. — Do not blame Montraville. He, too, is a victim. 
Col. C. — But that girl looks so innocent, so sweet! 
La Rue. — It is such who are capable of ze most mischief. 
Oh. vat shall I do, and vere shall I go? 

Col. C. — Go with me! I'll take you away from this place 
and put you where you will be free from all want and worry. 
La Rue (offended)— Sair, I am not a Charlotte Temple ! 

Col. C. Heaven forbid that you should be. I'll marry 

you ! To-day, at once, this very hour. 

La Rue. — Marry me! Make me your wife! Ah, how 
noble you are ! No wonder I love you ! Oh, vat have I said ! 

Col. C. Said? Why you said you loved me. What else 

should you say to your husband that is to be? Just say it 



18 CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 

again. Why, dem it, I've been loving you till me heart goes 
like a hammer. 

La Rue. — < >h, Col. Clayton, how can you love me? 

Col. C. — How can I help loving you? 

La Rue. — But I am only a poor girl, a school-teacher, a 
drudge. 1 am not tit to be your wife. 

Col. C. — Lei me be the judge of that. I have wealth enough 
for both. You shall be surrounded with every luxury money 
can buy if you will only say you'll have me. 

La Rue. — Glady will 1 be your wife — but I may be mis- 
judged. My position here may cause one to remark. Indeed, 
Lientenanl Belcour has insulted me more zan once. 

Col. C— Let Belcour or any person make unpleasant re- 
marks about my wife! I should like to hear them! 

(Enter Belcour and Charlotte D. C.) 

Char. — Col. Cla\ t< »n ! 

Bel. (to Charlotte)— What did 1 tell you! 

Col. C. — I suppose I am welcome? 

Char. — You are more than welcome. 

Col. C. (coldly) — 1'erhaps not so welcome when I tell you 
1 am conspiring to take your companion away. Mile. La Rue 
has promised to become my wife. 

Char. — Your wife! (Looks from one to the other.) Bel- 
cour laughs softly to himself and goes down L. C. twirling his 
moustache.) 

Col. C. — It seems to surpirse you! 

Char. — It is very sudden, and I thought (Checking 

herself.) 

Col. C. — Nevertheless, it is true. Henceforth this lady's 
honor is mine, (to Belcour) and should any one presume 
to speak disrespectfully of her I shall not hesitate to hold him 
to account. 

Bel. (bowing very low and with ridiculous gravity) — Per- 
mit me to wish Mile, much joy. Colonel, you need never be 
apprehensive of any one throwing odium on the character of 
y< nir lady. (To La Rue.) The spider has her fly safely in her 
net. What pretty yellow roses! (Goes up.) 

1 .a Rue (biting her lip) — What a miserable wretch: 

Char, (to the Colone ) — Your fortune is my loss. God 
grant you may both be happy! (Goes to kiss La Rue, who 
turns coldly away.) 

La Rue. — I zank you ! 

Char, (daggered) — Oh, God! 

Col. C. — It may not entirely conform with the rules of so- 
ciety, but circumstances urge me to take Mile, away at once. 
She needs mv protection! — therefore we shall be married 
to-day. 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE nj 

La Rue (joyfully) — I vill get my belongings at once. (Exit 
to left.) 

Col. C. — The quicker the better. 

Char. — Can I help you, Mademoiselle ? 

La Rue. — No, I zank you — I prefer not. (Sneeringly.) Von 
remain here and entertain Lieutenant Belcour. (Charlotte 
sinks into seat again and La Rue exit L.) 

Col. C. — Demmed if I ain't sorry for her. Miss Tem- 
ple 

Char, (turning) — Col. Clayton. 

Col. C. (embarrassed) — I hope you are not ill. 

Char, (smiling sadly) — No, I am quite well. As well' as I 
can ever hope to be. 

Col. C. (Aside) — This is a devilish ticklish position f r a 
man to be in. Er — Lieut. Belcour, do you smoke? 

Bel. — Very little. 

Col. C. — They say it is injurious, but I must have my pipe. 
(Takes it from his pocket.) What a fine view ! This is a 
lovely spot. 1 hope Mile, will not be long. (Strolls out 
slowly.) 

Bel. (aside) — Very gracefully clone. Colonel, very. (Comes 
down.) You seemed pained, Miss Temple. 

Char. — How I have been deceived ! How can this woman 
so requite you ! 

Bel. (laughing) — What can you expect from a woman 
whose ruling passion is position? He who counts on no 
friends is wise ; he cannot be deceived. 

Char. — I am just beginning to learn the hypocrisy of the 
world : I thought you were going to marry her. 

Bel. — Never had such an intention. 

Char, (rising) — Lieut. Belcour, she believed then it is 

you who are to blame. 

Bel.- — Neither, my fair Charlotte. Mile. La Rue and I 
understood each other thoroughly from the start. 

Char. — What do you mean ? 

Bel. — What an innocent you are ! 

Char, (sighing) — What a world this is! 

Bel. — Why, that woman is a scheming adventuress. Her 
past can never bear the eyes of scrutiny. I hope you may 
never sink to her level whatever other fate may overtake you. 

Char. — I hope I may die before I sink at all 

Bel. — Has Montraville been here to-day? 

Char. — No, Montravlle has not been here for some time, 
though he writes each day, promising to come the next. 

Bel. — A promise he does not keep. 

Char. — You have seen him ? 

Bel. — Every day. 

Char. — Is he verv busy? 



20 CHARU >TTE TEMPLE 

Bel.- Well, 1 — I don't like- to say anything against mj 

Friend, but when a man neglects a woman like you for 

Char. — For for another ! 

Bel.— Well 

Char. — Speak out! another you meant that? 

Bel. — Well, for another. 

Char, (choking) — Is this other a good woman?* 

Bel. — There is not a blemish on her name. 

Char. — You mean Miss — — 

I >el. -Miss Franklyn. 

Char. — You have spoken of her before. How can she en- 
courage Monti-aville when she knows ? 

Bel. -She knows nothing. Miss Temple. Few know of 
your presence here. 

Char. — Heaven is at least kind in this. But what does 
Montraville want, of her? It is a rumor. Let them say what 
they will — I know Montraville is true to his vows to me. 

Bel. — She is rich and handsome — he. handsome and a sol- 
dier. Many men have forgotten their vows when tempted 
with riches and beauty. 

Char. — Not my Montraville. He has promised 

Bel. — To marry you. That was in England, seven months 
ago. He has not kept h is word, and he never will, NOW ! 

Char. — Oh, merciful God! 

Bel. — Montraville is not worth)' of you. (Leans over her.) 
Charlotte honor has sealed my lips, but they will not remain 
closed any longer. 1 love you, Charlotte. 

Char. — Stop ! 

Bel. (intensely) — You are mourning yourself to death for a 
man who cares for you no longer. 

Char. — His lips have not said so ; until then I shall believe 
him constant. 

Bel. — 1 le will never make you his wife. Don't let him drag 
you lower. You so beautiful, so good. Charlotte, there is life 
before you yet — a bright happy life. Would that I were the 
one to make it doubly so. 

(Enter La Rue laughing, i 

La Rue. — What a pretty picture! 1 vish Montraville could 
see it. He is so appreciative. 

Bel. — T will leave you the honor of telling it to him. 

I. a Rue (goes to glass and arranges her toilet) — Good-by. 
Lieutenant Belcour. (Starts up. then comes down stage to 
Charlotte.) /.ere is something 1 vould like to say before 1 go. 
You know, Charlotte, I shall now take a position in society 
very much above you. As ze wife of Col. Clayton I cannot af- 
ford to continue ze acquaintance of such a woman as Char- 
lotte Temple. So let us be strangers and forget ozair. It will 
be happier for both. Good-by. (Starts up, pauses C.) 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 21 

L nar. — Stop, Mile. La Rue ! Have you forgotten the part 
you played in my downfall? It was you who entrapped me 
into my shame, and though you repudiate me now, some day 
you and I shall stand face to face before God, and how will 
you answer then? Oh, a thousand times would I rather bow 
my head beneath my shame than tread my path to honor over 
yours. Go, no happiness can come to you. Though I may 
fall, God will not let me fall alone ! 

La Rue (laughing) — How pious you have become. It is an 
excellent effect ; it becomes you. Good-by. I vill remember 
every word you have said. Oh, Lieut. Belcour, you may call 
if you like. I should not like to lose my gentlemen friends. 
Good-by. (Exit laughing D. C, and off L.) 

Bel. — Charlotte, look up. One friend is left to you — a 
true friend, who loves you in spite of all ! — who will not leave 
you. 

Char. — This is my punishment for my sins. 

Bel. — My poor, deserted girl, you shall not be left alone 
in your sorrow. Let me take you away from here. Let me 
prove to you that I am more worthy of your confidence than 
Montraville. 

Char, (apprehensively) — Lieut. Belcour, you must not 
speak like this to me. I will not listen to you. I would be as 
guilty as though I were his wife. Ah, I am his wife ! Love 
has made me his wife in the eyes of Heaven. Man cannot 
make our marriage more binding. 

Bel. — The world looks upon such things differently. Let 
me protect you. Charlotte, I love you. I have loved you ever 
since Montraville began to act like a cur. I would die for you 
— only for one smile. 

Char. — I will hear no more. Though all the world point 
the finger of scorn toward me, I shall still retain some ves- 
tige of my self-respect, and if Montraville deserts me I shall 
be faithful till death ! 

Bel. (aside) — Egad, but she is brave. 

Char, (going up)— You must not come here again. I 
must demand of you the honor you would pay to Montra- 
ville's wife, and the courtesy due to the daughter of a gentle- 
man. I bid you good-day, Lieut. Belcour. (Courtesies and 
exit L.) 

Bel. — Injured innocence, how beautiful you are! Nothing 
so becomes a woman. She wears her dignity like a crown. 
Well, I suppose that means that I must go. I shall be pa- 
tient and await events. (Goes up to I). C.) What's that- 
Major Buckingham and a lady ! Miss Gushington, as 1 live ! 

(Enter Major Buckingham and Miss Gushington, D. C.) 

Maj. B. — Here you are. Miss ; I've done my duty in fetch- 
ing von here. Now I hope you will permit me to depart. 



CHARL< >TTE TEMPLE 

.Miss G. — Oh, my dear Major, I could never find my way 

back to town again. Do not desert me like this, I beg" you! 

Major (-roans)- -( )li, the devil take the woman! 

Bel. (coming forward) — Miss Gushington, I believe. 

Miss G.— Why, Lieut. Belcour! 

Major B. — Thank heaven — another man! 

Miss G. — I did not expect to see you here. This is an un- 
expected pleasure. (Major 15. Goes up.) Don't go, Major. 

Bel. — I assure yon. Miss Gushington. the surprise and 
pleasure are mutual. When did you leave England? 

Miss G. — Some two months ago. 1 could not resist the 
longing to see my dear brother. (Glances toward the Major.) 
And incidentally. I hoped to find some traces ot Charlotte 
Temple. You can imagine my surprise and pleasure when I 
met Major Buckingham, who knew all about her. 

Major B. — And now that you have met Lieut. Belcour, 
I am sure he will be only too delighted to take charge of you. 

Miss G. — What would people say to see me go away with 
one man; and return with another? So this is where Char- 
lotte Temple lives. A gilded cage. And for this she has 
broken her mother's heart. 

Bel. — I hope you will deal gently with her, Miss Gushing- 
ton. Her sin is great, but her misery is greater. Spare a ten- 
der heart which is slowly breaking. 

Miss G. — She doesn't deserve to be. I'll thank you, gentle- 
men, to permit us to have an interview in private. 

Major B. (starting up) — With pleasure. I'll go back to 
camp. 

Miss G. — ( )h, no, Lieut. Belcour will walk in the garden 
with you. I'll not be long. It won't take many minutes to 
say what I have to say. 

Bel. — Come along. Major, von will admire the garden. 
(Aisde.) 1 hope she won't interfere with my plans. I'll not 
give her time to do much mischief. 

Major B. — Oh, what have I done to be punished like this! 
I wish there would be a battle and we would have to go to 
the front at once. Xow that woman will bore the life out 
of me. 

Bel (going up) — Major, if you only knew the true worth 
of woman — 

Miss G. — Major, don't go away! 

Maj. B. (Sarcastically) — A pleasant position to be in. 

Miss G.— Now, Lieut. Belcour. where is Miss Temple? 

Bel. — I think you will find her in that room. 

Miss. G. — ( )h, very well, you may go now. 

( Exit Bel. and Major D. C. and off L.) 

Miss G. — (goes up and knocks at door L.) — I wish this 
interview were over. Goes down B.) 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 23 

(Enter Charlotte L.) 

Char.— What is your wish, madam ? (Miss G. turns.) Miss 
Gushington ! Oil, Miss Gushington ! (Turns away.) Another 
bitter drop in my cup of wretchedness. 

Miss G. — I didn't think you had shame enuough in you to 
blush. You wicked girl! The whole of England is talking 
of your shame, while you are living here in brazen luxury. 
Are you the Charlotte Temple we all loved so well ? 

Char.— Don't reproach me. My heart can endure no more. 
I have prayed for death, but heaven has punished me with 
life. 

Miss G. — It is a wonder you have humility enough to con- 
fess it. You, child— you ought to be parsing nouns in my class 
at Madame Du Pont's school; instead of smirking before a 
looking-glass and studying and studying how to please that 
graceless libertine. 

Char.— Please do not speak harshly of Captain Monraville. 
Say what you will of me, but I do not vilify him. 

' Miss G. — You're a fool as well as a wretch. Has he mar- 
ried you? No, "indeed. I'll say what I please about him : and 
to think that a girl whom every one loved and trusted would 
come to this. A girl who seemed so high-principled and hon- 
orable. Don't ever tell any one I was once your teacher. They'll 
think I put such nonsense into your head, and I'm more 
ashamed of you than you are of yourself. 

Char. — Say what you will of me — you cannot make my 
heart break more than it has done. My only hope is that I 
may soon die and cease to be a disgrace to those who know me, 
and to the mother who finds it too hard to forgive me and take 
me back again. Oh, Miss Gushington, do not think my life 
is as you picture it. If you only knew ! (Bursts into tears and 
sinks into chair L. of table.) 

Miss Gushington R. of table begins to whimper, takes up 
her handkerchief to wipe away her tears, drops it on table.) 
Miss G. (trying to be stern)— It serves you right ; you de- 
serve it (A change comes over her: she looks at Charlotte 
a moment, goes softly around to her, drops on her kneees be- 
side her and puts her arms about her.) My poor child, forgive 
me. I was too harsh. Tell me all about it ; tell me every- 
thing. _, , _ 

Char.— Oh, don't, don't come near me ! For the first time 
I realize how unworthy I am of one kind word from you. 

Miss G.— This is not the time to think of the fitness of 
things. You are in terrible trouble. I was harsh only to find 
out if you had fallen as low as rumor said you had. Tell me 

everv thing. 

Char, (sobbing)— Oh. I cannot. I cannot ! 

.miss G.— Won't you trust me? haven't T always been 



24 CHARL* >TTE TEMPLE 

kind to you? Didn't I do my duty to you as a teacher? And 
you know I loved you, Charlotte. I have come all the long 
distance from England more to find you than for any other 
reas< >n. 

Char. — 1 am so utterly lost, 

Miss G. — So happily found. Charlotte, why. have you not 
at least written to your mother? 

Char, (.surprised) — Why, Why, I have written to her and 
to m\ father. Three letters have 1 sent home, making a most 
humiliating confession of my sin, and craving their forgive- 
ness. 

Miss G. — Charlotte, 1 know that your parents have re- 
ceived no word from you, or had not when I sailed. Even then 
your father was preparing to come in search of you, hut cir- 
cumstances prevented. 

Lhar. — Then they have not cursed me? My father is com- 
ing to tell me they forgive me. but why. why is he not here? 

Mis> G.— IU' could not leave your mother, dear. 

Char, (bursting into tears) — She is ill — dead? Oh, don't 
tell me I have killed my darling mother! 

Miss C. — No, dear, she is not dead, but very ill. By this 
time she is doubtless well and on her way to you. 

Char. — My mother, 1 shall see my mother! Oh, I cannot 
tell you how my heart has ached for a sight of her dear face. 
But how can 1 meet her NOW! 

Miss G. — Xow is the time you need her. 

Bel. (laughing without) — Now, now Major! 

Miss G. — There come Major Buckingham and Lieut. I icl- 
cour. Take me to your room, my child, where we shall be 
free from interruption. I must know everything. 

Char. — How good you are to me ! (Rises and goes L.) 
Surely, if there are angels, thev are like you. 

Lviiss C. (leading her into room L.) — In that case, what a 
poor place Heaven must be. (Exeunt both D. L.) 

(Enter Belcour and Major Buckingham D. C.) 

Bel. (laughing) — My dear Major, before long you will 
change your tune in regard to the fair sex. Wait till you see 
nothing but soldiers and dreary camp-life. Why, Miss Gush- 
ington would positively he a blessing, then. Think T will sug- 
gest it. 

Major B. (looking around nervously) — If you dare hint 
such a thing to that tiresome woman, damn me, I'll have you 
relegated to the ranks ! 

Bel. — Very well put, my dear Major, but anyone can see 
that you are desperately in love with Miss C.ushie. Why, 
it is plain to he seen that she braved the dangers of the deep 
ostensibly to join her dear brother, but in reality to bask in 
the suiiles of her dear Major. 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 25 

Major B. — Smiles ! Do you See any smiles on my face, sir? 
Bel. — Not just at present. Oh, you will smile. 
Major B. — Not when there's a woman around. 
Bel. — Do vou deny that you are in love? 
Major B.— Do I show any signs of imbecility? I have 
lived, sir, in the wholesome atmosphere of men, and could 
never fawn around some simpering miss. They simply consist 
of freaks and frills ; — no brains. Me love ? Bah ! 

Bel— Your Miss Gushington does wear a few frills or fur- 
belows, but she will rule thee. Listen, my dear Major, to the 
words inscribed by Voltaire on a statue called Love: "Man- 
kind, behold your master. 1 rule thee, I have ruled thee, or I 
will rule thee." 

Maj. B. — Belcour, there are few men in this world more 
annoving than you can be. 

Bel. — Because I won't allow you to be a misery to your- 
self. For what was marriage instituted? Miss Gushie in 
vour affinity — you might just as well try to escape death. 

Maj. B.— Then I shall court death; for a life with her 
would be a more terrible death than that which puts an end 
to life. 

Bel. — You talk like a widower. 
Maj. B. — I have talked with widowers. 

Bel — One marriage in ten is usually happy. You may be 
the lucky one. 

Mai •' Ik— The odds are too great! I want an equal show. 
Keep your advice to yourself I am quite capable of attend- 
ing to my own affairs. . 

Bel.— Ha, ha, ha, so you acknowledge that you have affairs. 
Ah, you sly Major, and" vou so severe with your friends! 

'\"[ a j B. — You, sir, are not one of my friends. My friends 
have mv welfare at heart. 

(Enter Miss G. her eves red with weeping.) 
Miss G. — Gentlemen, gentlemen, do you find it necessary 
to indulge in a war of words in order to keep in practice 

Bel.— The Major has just been telling me how he enjoys 

your society, and hopes you will 

Maj. B. (in a rage)— Lieut. Belcour, you abominable preva- 
ricator", vou popinjay, vou disgrace to the British army. I 
would be doing your acquaintance a favor if I had you court- 
martialed. . • 

Bel. The Major is the only modest, Miss Gushington ; he 

doesn't wish to be known as a gallant. 

Maj. B.— Speak for yourself, sir. 1 am no carpet knight, 
primping before a mirror and posing before the ladies. 

Miss G. — Oh, how I admire your modesty, your dauntless 
courage. But don't you ever long for the companionship of 
the gentler sex 



26 CHARL< >TTE TEMPLE 

Maj. Ik- No, Miss. 1 never have such longings. 1 have 
managed to grow old without being in love with your sex. 

Bel.— The more shame to you, Major, you have only half 
lived. True love is a rare happiness; "if it were common it 
would he better to he a man than he a god." Take my advice 
and get married. 

Mi.ss G. — Oh, Lieut. Belcour. 

Maj. I'.. — I get married! Do I look like amarrying man? 

Mi>> ('. . \l\ dcai- Major, you look as one possessing the 
proper requisites, for we all know thai under your bluff ways 
there heats a true, warm heart. 

Bel. — Well said. Miss ( '.ushington. The Major ought to 
he most gracious to you in the future' for so nice a compli- 
ment. 

i I ''.nter Charlotte L.) 

Miss G. — Major Buckingham, 1 wish to make you known 
to Mi>s Temple. Look up, Charlotte, you need never lower 
your eyes before such a man as Major Buckingham. I wish 
there were more like him in the world. (They exchange salu- 
tations.) 

Bel. — The wind has changed. "The weather-cock never 
changes, it is the wind." 

Maj. I'..— I'd like to twist the coxcomb's nose. (To Miss 
G.) Well, are you ready to go? 

Miss G. — Yes, at once. I have a story to tell you ahout 
some of your brother officers that will astound you. Lieut. 
Belcour, I hid you good-hy. (Kisses Charlotte.) My child, 
be of good cheer ; trust to me. All will he well shortly. I 
shall make hut a short stay with my brother at Fishkill, and 
when I return, unless you have heard from your parents, you 
shall go hack to England, with me. 

Char. — Oh, God bless you. Miss Gushington ! You have 
been a messenger of peace to me. 

Maj. L. (Multly)— Belcour! 

Bel. (startled) — Yes, sir. (Salutes.) 

Maj. L. — What was 1 going to say' 

Bel. (smiling) — Something about Miss Gushington, sir. 

Maj. B. —Damn it, sir, it was nothing of the kind. 

Miss G. — It was ahout our departure. 

Maj. B. (going up) — Lieut. Belcour, I command you to 
walk with Miss Gushington to the gate. 

Bel. — With pleasure. (Goes up.) 

Miss G. (going out) — Art.- you coming, Major. 

Maj. B. — Presently. (Exeunt Miss G. and Bel. D. C. and 
off R.i 

Major I'., (stands C. Gruffly, as he would speak to his 
men.) — Miss Temple! 

Char, (startled) — Yes. sir. 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 27 

Maj. B. (embarrassed) — Er, ah, um — has Montraville acted 
the part of a gentleman with you ? 

Char, (surprised.) — Thoroughly, sir. 

Maj. B. — I mean, that is — are you to be married to him? 

Char, (bursts into tears) — I — I do not know. 

Maj. B. — Then he has not played the gentleman. I un- 
derstand. I shall bring some influence on that young man, 
which I think will change his plans. Stop crying. You'll 
spoil your eyes. What damned fools women are ! 

Char.- — Please do not be harsh with Montraville. 

Maj. B. (shutting his teeth fiercely)- — I won't. 

Char. — He will do what is right. I trust him, and if I have 
faith in his honor, you should have. The blame is as much 
mine as his. love can bring sorrow as well as great happi- 
ness. 

Maj. B.— Yes. if Eve had behaved herself, you would have 
been spared all you've suffered. (Embarrassed.) You may 
find yourself without funds. When you do, please consider 
me your banker. Good day. (Exit hastily.) 

Char. — What a strange man ! Oh, how much lighter my 
heart feels ! I am almost happy, but why have not my par- 
ents received my letters? Surely, Montraville did not fail to 
send them. Oh, Heaven ! He would not purposely omit to 
do so. What am I to think ? But thank heaven, I have 
friends at last, little as I merit them. Oh, my poor mother, 
will you forgive your child for all the sorrow she has caused 
you? Can I ever forgive myself. (Exit R. I. E.) 
( Enter Belcour D. C. hastily.) 

Bel. — Here comes Montraville. Luckily he cijd not meet 
the ..iajor. Now for a timely word, and I believe we can all 
be saved some trouble. 

(Enter. Montraville D. C.) 

Mont, (surprised) — Belcour ! 

Bel. (pretending to be startled and embarrassed) — Er, ah, 
why Montraville, is that you? I didn't expect — that is. you 
take a man so by surprise — I — 

Mont. — What ails you? You act as though I had caught 
you stealing. 

Bel. (trying to laugh) — Stealing your lady-love, eh? But 
what is this I hear about you and Julia Franklyn ? Can I 
offer my congratulations? 

Mont. — What do you mean? 

Bel. — I heard you were to marry her. 

Mont. — You are wrongly informed. If I marry at all, it 
is Charlotte I shall make my bride. 

Bel.- But I thought- 
Mont. — That I prefer Miss Franklyn? Gossip has a mr 
licious tonsfue. It never wags but what it cuts to shreds 



28 CHARU >TTE TEMPLE 

tae sp< »tless robe i >f purity. 

Bel. (whittles as if surprised)— Some have no such robes 
t< i cut. 

Mont. — Does the world think me so base? Desen Char- 
lotte when she has given her all to me? My name shall be 
her shield to protect her tender heart against the poisonous 
arrows of a savage public. 

Bel. — And let her drag it in the mire. Yon run iron) one 
blind tolly to another. Can yon not see the ruin such a union 
will cause ? 

.Mont. — Do you not see the ruin I have caused"' The 
world has not wronged her; 1 have done it all. I am f c< blame 
tor everything. 

Bel. (smiling) — Marriage, I suppose, will change the 
world's opinion. Clever girl — men will say. Women will call 
yon a fool. 

Mont. — Let them call me what they will. Heaven v ill 
bless the act ; what do I care for mortal man? 

r.el. — Ah- good, sentimental friend, do you imagine no one 
1 lit yon has a right to provide for her future? . 

Mont, (hoarsely) — Belcour, you do not mean to insinuate 
that Charlotte is false to me? 

Bel. — Montraville, some things are better left unsaid. Y* >u 
and I are friends. I would not sacrifice your friendship for 
the embraces of any woman on earth. Say no more about it. 

Mont. — My God, Belcour, you do not mean what you say ! 
No, no. 1 cannot, cannot believe such a thing of her. Do no1 
destrov rr-v faith in the whole world, for 1 would stak^ m% v-TV 
soul upon her honor. 

Rob- -You would lose your soul. 

Mont.— And you, my friend, have done me tliis wrong! 

Bel. — Kill me. Montraville if you think 1 am to blame. 

Mont. — Then there is no truth in the world. (Goes to desk 
and writes.) 

Bel. (smiling) — Why will men commit themselves on pa- 
per? Every fool rushes to write a letter when he is angry, 
and wislie? he could tear it up an hour later. Montraville, 
what do you intend to do? 

Mont. — 1 shall never look upon her face again! T shall 
leave her. and though 1 shall provide for her. 1 will not see her. 

Bel- Your generosity is far too great. 

Mont. — I cannot believe her false! ( Places letter between 
the pages of a book on table.) I will see her; she cannct He 
to me. If 1 am convinced of her perfidy, 1 will leave 'hat 
letter to teach her the lesson she will deserve. Leave me. 
Belcour, I must speak with her alone. 

Bel. — My friend be cautious. Do nothing rash. Wait and 
learn. 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 29 

Mont. — Belcour has lied! I will not believe it. If Chir- 
lotte is false to me. then there is no honest woman living. 

(Enter Charlotte L.) 

Char. — Montraville ! (Goes over to him and drops on her 
knees beside him.) 

Mont. — Charlotte ! Let me look into your eyes, girl, and 
tell me — have you been faithful to me always — before God — 
always ? 

Char. — Before God, always ! How can you ask such a 
thing of me ? You know, you must know ! 

Mont. — There is no other for whom you care? 

Cnar. — My heart and soul belong to you! 

Mont. — I believe you ! Those eyes do not lie ! 

Char. — Oh, Robert, have you ceased to love me? Has 
another taken my place in your heart? These rumors that 
come to me — are they true? 

Mont. — No, my love. But are you sure, Charlotte, it 
is I whom you love ? 

Char. — Sure? Ah, Montraville, so sure that my every 
waking thought is of you. Could any woman do more to 
prove her love ? What I have done, debars me from forming 
desirable acquaintances, but I have not murmured ; I am con- 
tented so long as you give me what you can of your spare 
hours when off duty. 

Mont. — My poor girl, would I could undo the past and 
restore to your home and parents. Oh, I would to God I had 
never taken you from them. 

Char. — But you can at least restore me to them — and you 
will make me your wife VERY soon will you not? — so I may 
have no need to blush when I meet my mother. 

Mont, (walking up and down) — My God ! What am I to 
do? Belcour's words ring like a death-knell in my ears while 
her eyes speak so eloquently of truth and fidelity. 

Char, (going to him) — How strangely you act! You are 
not well. Your hand it hot — Montraville, you are ill ! 

Mont. — Yes, I am ill — suffering. I will be but poor company. 
I trunk I had beter return to quarters. (Goes to her.) Do 
not grieve for me, Charlotte, and do not be surprised should 
you not see me for some time. Good-by. (Kisses her coldly.) 

Char, (clinging to him) — Oh, Montraville! Montraville! 
Do not leave me, I pray you. Remain to-day at least ! I see 
you so little, and if you are ill, who should care for you but 
your own Charlotte? Oh, think of the long, lonely days that 
must be mine ! Think of all I have sacrificed for you ! On 
my knees I implore you to keep your prorimes. Do not leave 
me in despair ! 

Mont. — Arise, Charlotte. (Aside.) I must make some ar- 



30 CHARL< >TTE TEMPLE 

rangement for her. J low shall 1 end this interview? (Aloud.) 
Charlotte 1 must leave you, much as 1 desire to remain. 

Char, (breaking down)- Montraville, 1 will endure all 
things. I will go far away and never trouble you again in life, 

if you will make me your wife. ( )h save me, Montraville, save 
me! At your feet hear my cry of anguish — SA\ K MV 
HONOR.' 

Mont. M\ Cod ! what a wreteh I am ! A selfish, ungrate- 
ful wretch. Charlotte, 1 will keep my promise. 

Char. — Without delay? To-morrow. Robert? — to-morrow 
you will, you will? 

Mont, (rising) — To-day — the sooner the better. I am a 
wreteh not to have done it before. (Aside.) Belcour has lied ! 
There is no truth in Heaven, if she is false to me. 

Char. — ( )h, Robert, you have lifted a weight from my 
heart ! 

Mont. — And from my own as well. Prepare yourself in- 
stantly — there shall not be a a moment lost. I will go for a 
minister and witnesses. Wear your white dress, Charlotte — 
look your own self. 1 wish you to be such a bride as you 
should have been months ago. 

Char. — Oh, Montraville. Heaven will bless you for this. 
Noble, noble Montraville, how I love you! (Embrace.) 

Mont. (Aside) — Poor girl — little did she know how near I 
was to sacrificing her love. Thank God, I have come to my 
senses. Now for a minister to give her the protection of a 
husband's love. ( Exit D. C. and off R.) 

Char, (with hands crossed on her breast, looking upward) 
— At last, peace comes to me. His wife to-day! To-morrow 
I can face the world without a blush. (Exit Charlotte.) 

(Enter Belcour.) 

Bel. — I would give a good deal to have heard that inter- 
view. (Goes to book and takes out letter.) He should have 
entrusted this to my care. I wonder if my words took root 
in his mind. (Opens note, read it) The very thing! Fate 
plays into my hands. (Goes to door P.) Dressing,! Gads, 
what a beautiful neck ! I'd barter my soul for one embrace' in 
those arms, (knocks.) 

Cnar. (within) — Who knocks? 

Bel.- — Belcour. 1 have a message for you. 

Char. — One moment, please. From whom? 

Bel. — From Montraville. 

Char. — Montraville? 1 Why, he has just gone 

Bel. Yes, I know, but he gave me a note for you. You 
will find it on the table. I Exit.) 

(Enter Charlotte in white negligee wrapper.) 

Char. — A note for me? (Takes it half laughing.) Why. 
he was coming right hack ; hut perhaps he has forgotten some- 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 31 

thing. (Reads.) "Farewell, unworthy love. My eyes have at 
length opened to your treachery. It will not make you hap- 
pier to explain. You know — your own conscience tells you 
why I forsake you. His arms have taken the place of mine — 
his image has supplanted mine in your heart. Let his name 
protect you as I intended mine should do. Farewell ! — Mont- 
raville." God help me now ! (Staggers and faints in the arms 
of Belcour.) 

Bel. (leaning over her — She is mine ! To hold her to my 
heart like this has been my dream for years. (Kisses her.) 
Such rapture as this never filled my heart before. 

(Enter Montraville.) 

Mont, (sees Charlottle in Belcour's arms) — My God! she is 
in his arms ! he spoke the truth ! 

Bel. (looks in mirror and sees Montraville. Aside) — He 
has returned. (Aloud, to Charlotte, who is still in a faint.) 
Tell me again, sweet love, that you love me. These words, like 
sweet music, fill my soul with an illimitable ecstacy. And 
it was to be near me that you gave yourself to Montraville? 

Mont, (rushing up to Belcour in a fury) — You traitor ! 

Bel. ( as if alarmed) — Montraville ! (Charlotte recovers 
and leaves Belcour's embrace.) 

Mont, (to Charlotte) — At last you appear before me as you 
are. .1 gave you an honest man's love while you employed the 
pretenses of a Magdalen. 

Char. — Montraville, what have I done? 

Mont. — Ask your false heart. I loved and trusted you 
while I had cause to doubt your honesty ; but I understand you 
now. Belcour had the manhood to tell me — you would con- 
tinue to trick me. Go to him — you loved him from the first ; 
I was only a medium you used to be near him. 

Char. — It is not true ! — a most terrible lie ! I never loved 
him. You are my first love, and will be my last, even when 
death stops the throbbing of this tortured heart. 

Mont. — Madam, histrionic art does well to entertain the 
the public. Your talents are wasted on me. 

Char. — You wish to be rid of me. This letter was used 
for that purpose. The blame must rest on me, for I have no 
honor that opprobrium can tarnish. The fair name of Mont- 
raville must bear no stain when he leads Miss Franklyn to the 
altar. (Weeps.) 

Bel. (aside, smiling) — My star is in the ascendant, 

Mont, (to Belcour) — I will see you anon, and if by that 
time you have given my discarded toy your honorable name, 
I shall do my best to widow her and save you the disgrace of 
being made a cuckold. 

Bel. — You will find me at your command. 

Mont. — Farewell ! May your joys be equal to my despair ! 



32 CH \KI.< >TTE TEMPLE 

I Starts to go.) 

Char, (falling on her knees at his feet) — You must not go 
until \ i hi hear me ! 

Mont, (starting again to go) — Farewell ! 

Char, (catches hold of his hands) — For God's sake, listen 
to me ! 1 am innocent ! 

Mont, (hacks slowly to door, all the time trying to release 
his hand) — Go to your lover! 1 bequeath you to him; Go 
back to his arms! (Pushes her from him, and she falls on her 
face to the floor in a spasm of grief.) (Exit Montraville.) 

Bel. (standing over Charlotte) — You are now at my mercy, 
fair Charlotte ! You are mine ! 

CURTAIN. 

ACT 11. 

Scene 1. — A street in New York, showing exterior of Col. 
Clayton's house with steps and a practical door, also window 
with blind drawn, on which shadow can be thrown. House 
brightly illuminated. (Or it can be just a street scene, with 
snow falling.) Snow. Soldiers and citizens passing. (Enter 
Montraville and Major Buckingham L 1. E.) 

* * ■■':■ 

Maj. — Montraville, I've been thinking of that unfortunate 
girl. 1 san't get her out of my mind to-night. 

Mont.- 1 think of her always, and never without a bitter 
pang. 1 believed I loved her sincerely when we left England, 
and though I soon discovered that it was only a passing fancy, 
I should have married her, had she not so outrageously de- 
ceived me. 

Maj. — If she did deceive you, I wonder where she is to- 
night. 

Mont. — That is the thought which tortures me. Where is 
she to-night " J Thinking she might be in need, I sent a mes- 
senger to her with money ; but she was gone, and search as I 
will. I can find no trace of her. 

Maj. — Poor girl! Of all the woman in the world 1 have 
ever seen, she is the only one for whom 1 could change my bad 
opinion of the sex. (Shadow of La Rue seen on the window- 
blind.) But there is the real culprit, Montraville, and were she 
not my Colonel's wife, I'd 

Mont. — Hush! She deserves it. we all acknowledge .but 
we must be cautious of what we say. For myself I would 
rather walk into a prison than into this house. But her hus- 
band is an esteemed friend. (Going up steps.) 

Maj. — Wait. Montraville. what if we should meet Belcour? 

Mont. — I shall not forget where I am. Trust me. (They 
knock and are admitted.) 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 33 

(Enter Charlotte L. I. E. weary, faint and very pale.) 

Char. — Oh, merciful Heaven, sustain me. Let me not 
die in the street. The way has been so long — I am so faint, 
so ill. (Enter a foot-soldier — they meet.) Pardon me, sir, 
but will you kindly tell me where Mrs. Clayton lives? 

Soldier — Why, bless you, my sweet lady, I will with all 
my heart, but if you are going to make a petition to her, it 
will be useless. 

Char. — Say you so? Then do vou know Captain Montra- 
ville? 

Sol. — Yes, and God bless him. A better officer than he 
never lived. He is so good to us all. 

^iiar. — Gracious Heaven, is Montraville unjust to none 
but me? (Staggers and almost faints.) 

Sol. — Come, I will show you where Mrs. Clayton lives, for 
you are indeed very ill and she may aid you. 

Char.- — I hope sne does not live far away, for I am so 
weary. (Shivers with cold.) 

Sol.— And you are cold. Here is Mrs. Clayton's house. 
I hope she will give you shelter. 

Dark ; change to Col. Clayton's drawing-room. La Rue, 
Montraville, Major Buckingham, Miss Gushington. Julia 
Franklyn, Miss Mayfair, and Col. Clayton discovered. The 
drawing-room must be furnished, and the ladies costumed ac- 
cording to the period of 1774.) 

Col. C. — Gentlemen, if I read the signs of the times cor- 
rectly, you will soon be in the field of action. Hancock, the 
President of the Provincial Congress, has sent a request to 
Gen. Gage to cease erecting fortifications at Boston Neck. 

Maj. — Yes, but our General will not heed the request. 
Egad, this Hancock is enlisting men to be ready at a mom- 
ent's notice. 

Mont. — And Col .Washington, in his last speech in Con- 
gress, made some rather treasonable remarks. He said the 
people should be ready to preserve their freedom, or lose their 
lives in defense of it. 

Bel. — Thev have sent Quincy Adams to England, requesting 
that the troops be withdrawn. They claim we are a menace 
to the colonists. 

Col. C. — I think the answer will be such that these mal- 
contents will receive a wholesome lesson, and be given to 
understand they are still the King's subjects. 

La Rue — My dear military friends, spare us from further 
political discussion. Tell us of somesing pleasant. I assure 
vou we ladies are sick of wars and rumors of wars. 

Miss G. — My dear madam, you have a husband who has 
won honor and glory on the battle-field ; are you not proud 
of that part of the unpleasant subject? 



34 CHARLi >TTE TEMPLE 

La Rue (laughing) — 1 am prouder of his beautiful mousta- 
chios. (Pulling at them, then going to the window.) Oh! 
What a dreadful night ! 

(Col. Clayton passes snnff-box.) 

Bel. — What matters the winter to our gracious hostess? 
To her, life is one long summer day. as it should be. 

La Rue — 1 was zinking of ze poor and unfortunate. Ze 
storm is dreadful for zem. 

Bel. (to La Rue) — I wonder where Charlotte Temple is 
to-night ! 

La Rue — How dare yon speak of her to me. 

Col. C. -Would that all women were as kind as Madam 
Clayton. I low much suffering would he alleviated! 

Miss G. — Tis well that some of my sex feel that the sor 
rows of others, for 'tis precious little sympathy you men show 
to the crushed and heart-sick. I am learning- the perfidy of 
some of your sex as well as the heartlessness of some of my 
own. 

Bel. — My dear Miss Gushington, are you really going to 
tell us of some special case that has come under your obser- 
vation ? A little choice gossip would quite regale us. 

Miss Gush. — It may not he amiss in the midst of all this 
festivity to remember those who are suffering in this world ; 
and I do know a case which I am sure will appeal to Madam 
Clayton's boundless charity, and will give you gossip-mong- 
ing gentlemen a chance to judge your fellows. 

I, a Rue (aside, with a covert meaning in her words) — You 
shall save it for my private ear. Miss Gushington. 

Col. C. — Selfish woman ! To punish you, she shall tell it 
to us all. 

Miss G. — The sentence is passed; the story must be told. 
It is not long, and I am not a good story-teller. That it is 
true, I will vouch. When the British troops left England 
nine months ago, two women came with them, accompany- 
ing their lovers. ( )ne of these women was an innocent girl, 
who was led on by the wiles of the other, a scheming adven- 
turess, who thought only of her own pleasure, and did not 
hesitate in causing the other's downfall. The lover of the 
younger girl promised to marry her as soon as America was 
reached ; but ere that event happened he wearied of his toy 
and deserted her for another, rich, handsome, and who, as 
rumor says, he is to marry. Of the other two, the woman 
deserted the man to wed another of high power; and he, 
wearied as well of her, sought all the methods known to him 
to win the love of the other woman from the man she loved 
and trusted. He, I believe, would stop at no treachery, how- 
ever base And more than likely, there has been foul play, 
(looks at Belcour) for one dav the lover of the srirl, filled with 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 35 

remorse and to spare her further shame, went at last to ful- 
fill his neglected promise, and to make her his wife. The 
promise was never kept. The girl disappeared, and all the 
efforts of her friends have failed to find her. Now, you chari- 
table people, what is to be done? 

Miss F. — Offer a reward. I will donate a hundred pounds. 

La Rue — And when she is found, bring her to me. I vill 
gladly give her a home. 

Col. C. — I will give her more than a home. I will give 
her honor. That damned scoundrel shall be made to marry 
her, and the woman and man who accompanied them shall 
receive the punishment they deserve. 

Miss G. — But you forget. Colonel ; the woman has married 
a man in power, and — 

Col. C. — I don't care if she has married the King — she 
shall be punished and disgraced. 

Mont, (aside)— My God! What am I to think? What 
does this woman know ? 

Major (aside) — Dem me if that lady doesn't stand ac- 
quaintance. There is something besides bows and furbelows 
to her, after all. (Aloud.) Miss Gushington, I quite ad- 
mire your spirit — it does you credit. You are a clever wom- 
an — dem me, if you ain't. 

La Rue — I am afraid Miss Gushington's story has left a 
very unpleasant impression. I propose ze dance. 

Bel. — Yes, yes, the dance. Major, you should dance with 
Miss Gushington. 

Major — I will, with pleasure. Miss Gushie, have I the 
honor ? 

Bel. — Oho, the Major's coming on. 

(They form and dance the minuet.) 

Col. C. (after dance) — There's nothing like a little dancing, 
after all, to warm the blood and drive care away. Eh, Major! 
I think we can instruct the young men yet. 

Major — Egad, the young men need not think they can have 
it all their own way yet awhile. 'Tis well to take a little 
conceit out of them. 

Miss G. — I never had a better partner, and I have had a 
goodly number. 

Maj. — No wonder, you are grace itself. (Takes a pinch of 
snuff and draws out handkerchief.) (Aside.) There, I think 
honors are even. 

(Couples group themselves, playing games at different 
tables.) 

Pel. (aside to La Rue) — Do you think she meant Charlotte 
Temple ? 

La Rue — I am sure she did. Zat woman shall come 

here no more. She vill make trouble. (Major comes down.) 



36 CHARH )'!'J E TEMPLE 

Bel. — Ah. my dear .Major, do you know you are constantly 
surprising me? 

Maj. — That does not in the least surprise me. 

La Rue — Now, gentlemen, zere is a storm brewing. 

Miss <L — Madam, did you ever see oil and water mingle? 
Then you can hardly expect these gentlemen to affiliate; their 
natures are antagonistic. 

Julia Franklyn — 1 did not know you were a character 
reader, Miss Gushington. Define the character of these gen- 
tlemen. It would amuse us, I am sure. 

Bel. — Do, Miss Gushington. I would really enjoy see- 
ing myself through your lovely c_\es. 

Miss 0. — As 1 have studied palmistry, 1 will oblige you in 
S« I SMALL a matter. You. Lieut. Belcour (taking his hand), 
would like to be advanced to the military title of our gallant 
Major, without earning its merit. You would enjoy the pres- 
tige lor vain -glorious reasons. You are self-opinionated to 
an alarming degree. You desire the good opinion of our 
sex, but you would not hesitate to betray them. 

Maj. — Gads, who would have thought it of her. She im- 
proves wonderfully on acquaintance, demmed if she don't. 

La Rue — There, Lieut. Belcour, is your vanity satisfied"-' 
Miss Gushington, you have a marvelous gift. 

Lei. — Of stretching the truth. 1 warrant she will give 
the Major a most fair character. But see you anything else? 

Miss G. — Yes, this life-line being so short and ending in 
prongs signifies an early, sudden death. 

Bel. — A pleasant prophecy! Eh, Major, now for von. 

Miss G. — 1 shall be as truthful with him as with you. 
(Taking the Major's hand.) Major Buckingham is not so 
easily read, being more profound ; but one can see depicted 
in every line the sterling qualities of a true friend, a generous 
foe, an open enemy, and one who shrinks from notoriety. 
Under his bluffness there beats a heart full of kindness, espe- 
cially to the unfortunate. 

Maj. (aside) — I think 1 compare favorably with this pop- 
injay. I )em me, if she isn't worth a dozen ordinary women. 

La Rue. Any ozair virtues King dormant zat are likely 
to develop? Major. I shall begin to zink ve are entertaining 
an angel in disguise. 

Miss (".. Major Buckingham has some qualities that need 
ci irrecting. 

Maj. — Just like a woman to spoil it all. 

Miss G. — He is like tinder — ignites at the slightest friction. 
Flashes up, but soon dies out, doing no harm. That comes 
from the want of more of the society of our sex. 

Lil. — Really. Miss Gushie, 1 was afraid you were going 
to make a complete demigod of your Major, but your pref- 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 37 

erence for him does not need your flattering reading of his 
character to assure us of it. 

Major — Nor your chagrin to warrant any insult to a lady 
who is keen-sighted enough to read you, as I know you. 

La Rue — Come, gentlemen, do not quarrel. You shall 
laugh at my expense. Miss Gushington shall read me. 

Bel. (aside) — Better not. 

La Rue — Pah, I defy her to say anysing unpleasant of me. 
She vould not dare. 

Maj.— Now, Miss Gushie. 

Miss G. — If Madam desires ; but, being her guest, I would 
rather not. 

La Rue — That need not prevent you from saying anysing 
unpleasant for me to hear. I beg of you to proceed. 

Miss G. (shrugging her shoulders, then taking La Rue's 
hand.) Madam, when it pleases her, can be most gracious. 
She can charm by a gift of manner and win great honors, but 
she would not hesitate to tread over human hearts to gain 
her ends. I see by your hand that you will soon meet with 
great reverses, and know much sorrow. (Rising.) I think 
1 have contributed most fully to my share of your amusement. 

La Rue — Miss Gushington, you possess most remarkable 
gifts, to see anysing so improbable in my life. Ve did not 
dream you could forecast the future when you were teaching 
school at Madame Du Pout's. 

Miss G. (pleasantly) — You, also. (La Rue bites her lips.) 

La Rue — A truce to all this. What vill you do next to 
spoil our pleasures, I wonder? I know what will restore our 
wounded feelings best of all. If ze devotees of ze card-table 
are agreeable, ve vill repair to ze refreshment-room. (Those 
at table rise.) 

Col. C. — Montraville, you will have to pay more attention 
to vour playing, or you will lose your reputation. 

La Rue — Now. good people, if you have settled who are 
ze victors, ve vill repair to ze refreshment-room. 

Col. C. — Miss Franklyn, may I have the pleasure ? (She 
takes his arm.) Montraville, we shali fight a duel, shall we? 
(Exit laughing.) 

Maj. — Miss Gushie, permit me the honor. 

Miss G. — With pleasure, Major, and I do hope you won't 
consider me immodest in what I said to you. 

Maj. — Far from it. I like to hear a man or woman speak 
what they think, and no humbug about it. 

Miss G. — I am so glad you find something in me to admire. 

Maj. — Why, I began to think I am liable to admire you too 
much, dem me, if I ain't. (Aside). I hope no one heard me. 

Miss G. — Oh, you charming Major, how delightful you 
can be! (Exit with Major. Exit all but Belcour and La Rue, 



38 CHARL< >TTE TEMPLE 

and Montraville, who hangs hack.) 

La Rue. — 1 believe /.at woman came here purposely to an- 
noy me. 

Bel.— Will you take my arm? 

Mont. — One moment, Belcour, I have a word to say to you. 

Bel. — Really, you do me honor, Montraville. 

Mont. — You. as well as I, understood the .story that woman 
told. 1 am going to investigate it, and if I find you have 
lied to me. or through some trickery deceived me, I am going 
to kill you ! 

Bel. — Not so loud, my friend! Miss Franklyn will over- 
hear you. 

Mont. — Only let me learn that she speaks truly, and all the 
world shall hear me. I did my share of wrong, and I am suf- 
fering for it. If I find Charlotte innocent and you a trickster, 
you shall answer to Cod the moment I can find you! (Exit 
after others.) 

Bel. — Comforting! I think he has spoiled my appetite. 

(Enter Barker I). C.) 

Barker (with letter) — Please you. Madam, a lad)- begged 
me to give you this letter. 

La Rue. — My dear Liuetenant, vill you please say to my 
guests zat I am detained a moment. It is some poor woman 
who seeks assistance of me, and I feel I must see her. 

Bel. — They say "Charity covers a multitude of sins." What 
boundless acts of mere)- you will have to perform, to cover 
yours. (Laughs and exit.) 

La Rue (turning to Barker) — Barker, vy do you distress 
me by business in the ze evening, when you know I am en- 
gaged ? 

Barker. — I told her. Madam, that she had better call again, 
but she said you knew her and would surely see her. 

La Rue (opens letter) — From Charlotte Mori Dieu, at zis 
time! (Crushes letter in her hand.) Barker, I have told you a 
hundred times I vould not be annoyed wiz beggars or petitions 
from strangers. Tell zis voman I am sorry I cannot relieve 
everybody. I do not know zis voman! 

Charlotte! entering D. C.) — You are speaking falsely. Not 
know Charlotte Temple? 

La Rue.- — Leave my house! 

Char. — Not until you have heard what I have to say! I hit 
for you I might still have been an innocent girl. It is you who 
have brought me to this, and all for your own advancement; 
but I shall go to to Col. Clayton and tell him all unless you 
undo the wrong you have done me. 

La Rue. — You are a mad woman ! Barker, take her away : 
she terrifies me t< > death. 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 39 

Barker. — Madam, I am your butler, but I'll lose my posi- 
tion before I'll lay hands on that girl. 

La Rue — Leave my house, both of you! (Barker bows 
and exit.) 

Char. — Oh, God, this is too much ! What will become 
of me? Must I humiliate myself to you? Must I beg of 
you on my knees not to let me perish in the street? I am 
penniless, homeless, and ill — 

La Rue — You should appeal to Captain Montraville. 

Char. — I would die before I would accept a farthing from 
his hand ! 

La Rue (laughing) — A little more poverty vill take down 
some of ze haughty spirit. 

Char.. — Is it a haughty spirit which can permit me to come 
to you of all the world. Madam, I beg of you to remem- 
ber that we were friends, woe, woe to me ! Think of Mon- 
traville's promise and your counsel. 

La Rue — And of your own unfaithfulness. 

Char. — I unfaithful ? Never ! 

La Rue — Montraville could but believe the evidence of his 
eyes. Did he not find you in Belcour's arms ? 

Char. — It is a lie ! I would have died first ! 

La Rue — Veil, it is a choice of whom to believe, and I 
prefer Montraville. 

Char. — My God, can Montraville be so base ! 

La Rue — Zat is his story. He was about to marry you, 
vent for ze minister, but forgetting a letter he had left on ze 
table, returned for it and found you in Belcour's arms. Of 
course, you fainted and zat made a pretty tableau, though 
you failed to hear his parting words, unless you vere sham- 
ming. And now you vill leave my house, unless you vish 
to interview Capt. Montraville, who is yonder vis his fiancee. 
(Draws aside curtains, where feasting is to be seen.) 

Char, (staggering forward) — Montraville, Montraville ! 
Oh, tell him I want to say just one word ! If what you tell 
me is true, call him here that I may vindicate myself. 

La Rue — You may see Montraville ; I vill send him to you. 
(Aside) Good ! How he will scorn her. He thinks his 
HONOR outraged. (Laughs and exit.) 

(Montraville enters, but starts in astonishment when he 
beholds Charlotte?) 

Mont.— What brings YOU here? 

Char. — To vindicate myself ; and oh, Montraville, by the 
love you once had for me, pity my distress. 

Mont. — Which you brought upon yourself; and I, blind 
fool, once thought you pure as a vestal virgin. 

Char. — Spare me, and believe me. I was evere true to 
thee! 



40 CHARL< >TTE TEMPLE 

Mont. — Wretched girl that you are! Pollute not your lips 
with a lie. Did I not sec you in the arms of your lover? 
I went away intending- to make yon my wife; 1 returned only 
to find you giving caress for caress, and his kisses still cling- 
ing to your lips. 

Char, (dazed) — Then SHE did not lie. lie returned for 
that letter. I Hi. the refined cruelt) of fate! F< >l'\l) ME IX 
BELC< >UR'S AUMS. Xo. no. it could not be! 

.Mont.- Now. I had better send your LOVER to you — the 
one lor whom I was dethroned. Oh, I thank God for my for- 
tunate return; for now the lady whom 1 shall soon lead to 
the altar is in every way worthy of MY L,( )\ !\. 

Char. — Xow Heavenly Father, pity me, for I am indeed 
lost. Oh, how his words sear my brain! (Pressing hands to 
head.) 

(Enter Miss Julia Franklvn.) 

Miss F. — I beg your pardon — I did not know you were 
in conversation with this lady. 

Mont. — This PERS< >X was at one time a valued friend of 
mine in England. 1 would introduce you to her, my dear 
Julia, if she were your social and moral equal. I know of 
no greater indignity to you, and no higher honor to her, than 
for me to present her to you. 

Char, (utters a sharp cry and staggers) — May God forgive 
this cruel blow! 

Miss F. — What is her name? 

Mont. — Magdalene. 

Char. — A victim of man's perfidy. You will find her every- 
where — in the past, in the present, and in the future. Love 
that is a man's plaything, is a woman's ruin. He cats the 
delicacies, I the crumbs. He has plenty, T have want. He 
suffers from too much warmth, I enjoy the luxury of freezing. 
People bow to him and smile ; women crowd around him. each 
outdoing the others in their efforts to please him, while peo- 
ple shun and frown upon me. Women say "Shameless crea- 
ture." and men say in tones of disgust, "Flow low women fall !" 
True, the thing that makes me fall lifts men up. Look at 
me, then look at him. I am the victim, he is the seducer! 

Miss F. — Charlotte Temple! 

Mont. — Who broke an honest man's heart to amuse her- 
self with. Come Julia, this is no atmosphere for you. Wom- 
en who have no honor left invent splendid tales to play upon 
the feelings of honest persons. Astuteness comes with vice. 

Miss F. — T could pity some in your condition, but pity 
for you would be wasted. Your history is written in red let- 
ters. 

Char. — With the blood of my poor heart ! 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 41 

Mont. — Come, Julia. (Puts arm about her, and exeunt 
to the door.) 

Char. — You may leave me, Montraville, but my memory 
will burn in your brain like living coals of fire. Your tears 
will be endless monuments upon my grave. 

(Enter La Rue.) 

La Rue (apprehensively) — Miss Franklyn and Captain 
Montraville, do you not know your presence is desired, and 
your absence may cause comment? (Touches bell.; 

(Enter Barker.) 

La Rue — Show zat voman to ze street. I command you ! 

Char, (lifts her bands above her head and advances wildly 
toward La Rue.) — Oh, God, mete out to this woman the pun- 
ishment she deserves. (To La Rue.) — May Heaven blight 
your life as you have blighted mine. May you be turned into 
the street as you now turn me, and may you be spurned and 
despised by all the world as you have spurned me. I call God 
to bring his vengeance upon you all for now and for eternity ! 
(She advances toward La Rue, who retreats in great fear to- 
ward portieres L. and finally with a scream divides them al- 
most fainting. Julia Franklyn clings to Montraville. Enter 
all in confusion.) 

Char, (goes mad) — See (pointing to Miss Franklyn), she is 
waiting for you in her bridal dress, and I am singing the re- 
quiem. And the wide sea is washing ever, ever at my feet, 
but I cannot cross it. It says lost ! Lost ! 

La Rue — She is mad ! Take her away ! She will kill you ! 

Miss G. — Come with me, poor soul ; I will care for you. 
Gentlemen, the lost one of my story is found. See that the 
guilty reap their punishment ! (Takes Charlotte in her arms.) 

CURTAIN. 

(To make this act more picturesque. Miss Franklyn can 
sing an old-fashioned ballad, accompanying herself on a spinet, 
Montraville leaning over her. This can be introduced early 
in the act.) 

ACT III. 

Scene : — Interior of Miss Gushington's room. Charlotte re- 
clining on lounge R. C. or C. Miss Gushington kneeling 
beside her. 

Miss G. — At last the poor lamb has ceased to rave. How 
my heart aches to hear her call upon her mother whom she 
will see no more. 

' Char, (starting up) — Oh, do you not see her? My poor 

mother going to her death to expiate my sins. See her tears 

x of blood and crown of thorns — all for a ruined, ungrateful 



4-' CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 

girl. Save me! Save me, Montraville, I am sinking! 

Miss G. — There, there, poor child, you are with friends. 
Be calm. Try to get well, and with God's assistance, I will 
yet save and restore you to your home. 

Char, (with returning reason) — Angel of peace and mercy, 
art thou come to deliver me? 

\li->> G. — My dear Charlotte, he of good cheer; all the 
dangers and trials for your poor wounded heart are o'er. I 
will never leave you till you are placed in your mother's arms. 
I will take you myself hack to bonnie England. 

Char. — ( )h. let me hear you say those blessed words again. 
They are a sweet, healing halm that will strengthen my sick 
heart. You have almost made me happy. 

Miss G. — Then lay the comforting thought to your heart, 
and grow strong. All will yet be well, and the guilty will 
he punished. Col. Clayton know r s of his wife's perfidy, and 
Montraville of Belcour's villainy. Oh, if we could have found 
you how much sorrow we might have spared you. (Weeps.) 

Char. — How good you are ! It seems a long time since 
1 shed a tear. My head and heart are both on fire, but these 
tears of yours seem to cool and refresh me. Remain near 
me, my good, noble friend. I shall feel, then, that I am safe 
and I shall rest. 

Miss G. — Try, my dear one; sleep is a great healer. I 
will sit by you and hold your hand. (Arranges her bed and 
sits beside her.) < >h, if the dear Major can only get word 
to Montraville, all may yet he well. He must fulfill his prom- 
ise to this dear child ! (Charlotte sleeps.) At last she sleeps. 
(Enter Major Buckingham D. L. Miss G. rises as the Ma- 
jor enters.) 

Maj. — May I come in? 

Miss G. (goin:" to him) — When the angel of death hovers 
so near, he sanctifies any place. Tell me, have you seen Cap- 
tain Montraville? 

Maj. — Yes, he will soon be here. He is bowed down with 
remorse now that he has found out the villainy of Belcour. 
That fellow is a damnable villain — pardon me. And I fear 
Belcour's life will pay the forfeit. 

Miss G. — He is a scoundrel ! I hope Montraville will meet 
him and call him to account. 

Maj. — Miss Gushington, you have a heart of gold, and 
dem me. it may not be the right place, but you know when 
I have anything to say. I say it. Now if you will undertake 
to prune off the corners, I might yet become quite a success 
as a married man. There, what do you say? — that's a straight 
shot. 

Miss G— You know. Major, nothing succeeds like success. 
I can try. 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 43 

Maj. (embracing her) — Surrendered! don't you think 
you could give me a salute to bind the bargain without wak- 
ing Miss Temple? (Miss G. tip-toes, looks at Charlotte, then 
they embrace in a very methodical fashion.) 

Maj. — Well, that is nice, and dem me if I don't believe I 
■ could stand another. (They embrace and separate.) 

Maj. — That's like the measles — when you first get 'em you 
have 'em bad. Miss Gushington, don't you think we could 
retire for a few moments where it is more exclusive? We 
might awaken Miss Temple, and such a sudden shock — 

Miss G. — Major! Miss Temple would be rejoiced. 

Maj. — Let us defer the rejoicing until she is better, and 
I've so much to say to you I'm demmed if I can wait. (Ex- 
eunt both D. R.) 

(Enter Belcour D. L. Sees Charlotte.) 

Bel. (startled) — I thought to see Miss Gushington, and 
find Charlotte. 

(Charlotte awakens suddenly and sits up startled.) 

Char. — Lieut. Belcour, why do you come here? 

Bel. — I — I — that is, I come in behalf of Mrs. Clayton. 

Char, (turning away) — What can I do for her? 

Bel. — She wishes to see you. She has something to say 
to you — I think it is to ask your forgiveness. 

Char, (eagerly) — Then I will see her — bring her to me. 
Can I do less than my dear Master? 

Bel. (crossing L.) — The day is won, and that wretched 
Circe is saved, after all ! (Goes to D. L. and motions. En- 
ter La Rue D. L.) 

La Rue (affected) — Charlotte, my poor girl, can you for- 
give me? 

Char. — I can, oh, indeed, I can ! 

La Rue — They tell me you are dying. 

Char, (startled) — Dying! Oh, no! no! not dying? 

La Rue — Did you not know it? How heartless zese peo- 
ple are to keep ze truth from you ! 

Char, (weeping) — Oh, let me not die, dear Father, until 
I behold my blessed mother once more ! 

Bel.- — Stuff ! You cannot always believe what doctors say. 
I think you will get well. 

La Rue — Let us hope it is so, but I much fear for you, 
poor child. Charlotte, you have forgiven me, will you not 
also make me a promise? 

Char. — A promise? 

La Rue — My husband is coming here. He knows every- 
sing about me and about you. and he comes to you for ze 
truth. You will deny it — every word, will you not? 

Char. — Would you have me die with a lie on my lips? 



44 CHARH UTE TEMPLE 

La Rue — For my sake, Charlotte, sink of how we loved 
each ozair in England. 

Char. — I cannot, for thinking of how you deserted me here. 

I. a Rue— But you have forgiven zat. 

Char. — I will be silent, but 1 will not lie! 

La Rue (in sudden rage) — You are a vile girl, and ought 
to die ! 

Char, (groans) — Oh, leave me, leave me, for the love of 
Heaven! You are killing me. (Falls back on her pillow.) 

I. a Rue (in desperate rage) — Belcour, what am I to do? 

Bel. — Take what comes to you. It is your turn now. 

I .a Rue — Col. Clayton will kill me. 1 have sullied his 
name. 

Bel. — Well, you deserve all you will receive. 

La Rue — How can you speak so to me? Have you for- 
gotten zat you love me once? 

Bel. — You forgot it — not I ! 

La Rue— ( )h, what shall T do! What shall 1 do! 

Bel. — \\ hat you have done before — find some agreeable 
gentleman to elope with. 

La Rue (proudly) — You insult me with such words ! 

Bel. (mockingly) — What else can you do? 

(Enter Barker hurriedly.) 

Barker — I beg pardon, Madam, as you bade me hasten 
here if any one called to see the Colonel. (Stops for breath.) 

La Rue — Veil, speak out! Tell your news. 

Barker — Col. Clayton, Major Buckingham, and a strange 
gentleman from England have been having a dreadful time 
at your house. The Colonel has threatened vengeance on 
you. They talked of a court-martial, and a warrant has been 
issued for the arrest of Lieut. Belcour. 

Bel. — For me ! 

Rarker— Col. Clayton said he was glad he knew the whole 
truth at last. Major Buckingham got the story from Miss 
Gushington. 

Bel. — And she from Charlotte Temple. That will do. 
You may go. Here. (< >frers him money.) 

Barker — No, thank- you, sir. (Exit.) 

La Rue — And now. Lieut. Belcour, it is your turn! What 
will you do? 

Bel. — I? If a vessel sails for France in less than two 
hours, I shall depart with it. Disguises are plentiful, and I 
scarcely think I shall be caught. 

La Rue — And what is to heroine of me? 

Bel. — That is. not my affair. 

La Rue — It is! You brought me here; you got me into 
zis trouble. Now you shall help me out. 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 45 

Bel. — Well, Mrs. Clayton, I have no objections to your 
charming society, but I have not sufficient funds. 

La Rue (takes off her jewels) — Zere are my diamonds. 
Stay ! I will not leave you. I may not find you again. We 
vill go togezair. (Going to bed.) Now, Charlotte Temple, 
you may die in peace ; you are avenged. (Crossing.) Oh, I 
do not know what is in store for me. Does zis man love me ? 
No ! When he tires of me he will desert me as Montraville 
deserted her, but not like her can I die. (Exit Belcour.) 
What a future — ze victim of a man I dare not trust ! 

Char, (desperately) — La Rue, La Rue, do not go ! Think 
twice and try to trust God ! You will regret ! 

La Rue — It is too late. (Exit after Belcour.) 

Char. — She has gone to her destruction. It is retribu- 
tion? Oh, Father in Heaven, let me not die until I am for- 
given. 

Mr. Temple (without L.) — You told me that I shall now see 
my beloved child — that my darling still lives — that I may bless 
her — that I may — (Entering.) 

Char, (rising on pillow as she hears his voice) — Father, 
my father! 

(Enter Miss G. and Major B. from R. ; Col. C. from L.) 

Mr. T.— My child ! Do I again behold thee ? Do I hear 
you call me father? Oh, speak to me that I may know you 
live. My child ! My darling ! 

Char. — Father, dear father, you do not curse me? You 
forgive me? 

Mr. T. — A thousand times, my poor deceived child ! I 
have- come to take you to your mother. There, in the old 
home you will forget the past. 

Char, (smiling) — Is it vacation, and you have come for me? 
Are the young ladies at their studies ? It seems so quiet here. 

Col. C. — Poor child! (Turns away.) 

Miss C. — Her mind wanders at times. She fancies she is 
still at school. 

Char. — Mother, rock me to sleep. I am so tired — so tired. 

Mr. T. — God in Heaven ! Have I found her only to lose 
her again? Charlotte, Charlotte, my child. 

(Enter La Rue stealthily and in terror, trying to conceal 
herself.) 

La Rue — I am full of terror. Montraville has attacked 
Belcour, and will kill him. Now I must sue for mercy. 

(Clashing of arms heard outside with exclamations : "Die, 
traitor die," and "Montraville spare me !") 



4- CHARL< >TTE TEMPLE 

Mai. — 1 will ascertain the meaning of this. (Goes to door, 
Mont rav ille enters in great excitement.) 

.Mont.— Tell me I am not too late! Not dying! Not 
dead, Charlotte, my poor Charlotte. Murdered, but as God 
is my witness, not by my own hand. ( )ur false friend has 
just paid for his treachery with his life. 

Mr. T. — Hush, hush! This place is hallowed — yon must 
not speak like this. 

.Mont. — If thou art the father of Charlotte Temple, I am 
Montraville. Take this sword that has let out the lifeiblood 
of one villain, and kill me. 1 deserve it. Strike now and 
save me from the misery of reflection and everlasting remorse. 

Mr. T. (takes sword and places it against Montraville's 
heart. As Montraville raises Charlotte's hand to his lips, Mr. 
T. throws the weapon away.) No! If you were the undo- 
ing of my child your own conscience shall punish you. Look 
upon the blighted innocence of my child; think of the grief 
of a heart-broken mother, and may thy heart feel such sorrow 
as will merit the mercy of heaven. 

La Rue — (Going to Col. Clayton and kneeling before him) 
— Forgive me as he has been forgiven. 

Col. C— Never! You made a stepping-stone of a poor, 
innocent, trusting heart to gain your end. Go! Never let 
me see you again, and may God forgive you — I never shall. 

(La Rue leaves the room in great humility and grief.) 

Miss G. — Hush, she is reviving. 

(Charlotte opens her eves. Montraville kneeling beside 
her.) 

Mont. — Charlotte, 'tis I — your Montraville. Oh, I pray 
you, live — live, that I may right a great wrong. 

Char. — Am I dreaming, or do I see you again ? 

Mont. — I dare not ask forgiveness, for my sin is too great; 
but as God is my witness, I too have been basely deceived. 

Char. — But you know now. 

Mont. — That my Charlotte was as true as steel, as pure 
as snow. Only live to become my wife, and may a life of 
devotion repay you for the past. 

Char. — It is too late — too late ! 

Mont. — No, no! 

Char. — Kiss me, Montraville, and hold me close to your 
heart. (She is placed in his arms.) Montraville, why do you 
weep? Father, as a last request, I ask you to forgive this 
penitent whom I so dearly love. Forgive him, for my sake. 

Mr. T. — As I hope to be forgiven! 



CHARLOTTE TEMPLE 47 

Char. — Thank you. Now I can die happy. I am cold. 
(Shivers.) How dark it has grown — I cannot see you. — 
Hold me closer. The ship rocks so. and the cold water is 
dashing over me. 

Mont. — My poor white dove — oh, God, spare her to us ! 

Char. — "Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy 
name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done — on earth — as 
it is — in — Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And 
— forgive — us our trespasses — our tres — (Dies.) 

Mr. T. — "As we forgive those who trespass against us." 
My child, my angel child ! (Falls on his knees by bed. 
Others grouped around him.) 

CURTAIN. 



rti 







015 910 064 9 



